


A Bad Beginning

by FelixFeroxFilia



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: M/M, Murder Mystery, Paranormal, Romance, Sexual Tension, Supernatural Elements, X-Files Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-04
Updated: 2013-10-04
Packaged: 2017-12-28 09:39:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/990509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FelixFeroxFilia/pseuds/FelixFeroxFilia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Special Agent Jason Todd has been getting flak for being too trigger happy while investigating his cases. Combined with the fact that he’s been pouring through the X-Files, a storage room full of unsolved, unexplainable cases, he is currently under intense scrutiny by the head of the Bureau. So the higher-ups decide to partner him with new Agent Tim Drake who is under orders to report on Todd’s investigative measures and to evaluate his sanity.</p><p>This is a combination of the X-Files world and the world of Supernatural with tons of DC (Batman) characters thrown in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bad Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been watching X-Files recently (no surprise there) and for some odd reason I get the overwhelming feeling that Tim and Jason would make a great Scully and Mulder, so here’s a snippet of what I am thinking. I can’t say I’ve ever written these characters before or know a whole lot about them. So, if you like something or other but feel that my characterization is off, feel free to let me know.

            Not ten minutes after Tim had arrived at the office did he find himself crammed into the passenger side of Todd’s 1969 Lincoln Continental. His morning coffee was still clutched in his hand, precariously balanced so that the creamy concoction wouldn’t slosh over the brim and onto his nice slacks. Would it have killed Todd to wait an extra minute for him to grab a travel lid? Even if he didn’t care about the state of Tim’s work clothes, you’d think he’d at least care about the interior of his Baby; the car he only spent every other conversation gloating about.

            Tim wasn’t a big car aficionado, but even he could grudgingly admit that it was a pretty classy ride. It had a subtle grace to its rectangular form, the sharp edges either accentuated or curved in all the right places in order to highlight the car's sleek design. The exterior boasted a glossy black finish and a chrome trim polished to mint-condition shine. When you looked at it, you could tell from the silhouette alone that it was from a different era; made in a time when the space race was vogue and drive-ins were the places to be. As if to highlight how vintage it was, Todd had invested in a set of white-wall tires, which peaked out beneath the car’s low-riding frame.

            Inside, the bench seats were covered in soft, black leather to match the black carpets, dark wood paneling, and black leather interior lining. It should have been gloomy he supposed, but the shining chrome accents made it feel more luxurious than anything.

            And yet for all its luxury, Tim had nowhere to put his coffee. He cursed when the first bump they hit caused scalding liquid to spill over his hand and onto his nice slacks. Goddamnit, he only had three pairs of these and the FBI sort of frowned on their agents wearing jeans to work.

            He hurriedly opened the glove compartment, hoping to find some napkins he could use to sop up the mess before it stained. What he found instead was a copper knife inscribed with bizarre symbols, a battered old composition notebook with well-worn tabs sticking out everywhere, and a mason jar full of what looked like blood. Curious despite himself, Tim took the jar out and held it in a patch of sunlight to get a better view of its contents. He swirled the jar with his free hand, analyzing the liquid’s viscosity by how well it clung to the glass container. It looked like blood, sort of felt like blood (old blood), but short of opening the jar and sticking his nose in he couldn’t be certain.

            “This is blood?” he asked Todd to affirm his theory.

            Todd glanced quickly at the jar in Tim’s hand before his eyes went back to the road. Almost too nonchalantly he said, “I was wondering where that went.”

            So it was blood. Suddenly the rumors about his new partner were starting to make sense. A chill ran down Tim’s spine. “Any particular reason why you have a jar full of blood in your glove box?”

            “Ever had blood pudding? It’s delicious.”

            “So this is…?”

            “Lamb’s blood.”

            “Ah.”

            Seeming to sense Tim’s uncertainty Todd said, “Not a lot you can do with that much human blood.” His voice was light and joking, but the knowing smirk on his face looked more like a grimace to Tim. He had a sense that hadn’t been as much of a joke as Todd had tried to make it seem and it didn’t do much to ease the creeping feeling that was settling in the pit of Tim’s stomach.

            When Tim didn’t laugh, Todd shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “That was a joke,” he said.

            “Right.”

            To distract himself from the awkward tension now filling the car, Tim casually put the jar back into the glove box and fished out a few of the napkins that had been crammed beneath it.

            While attempting to mop up his spill he asked, “So, where are we going?” He had only gotten a vague ‘let’s go, got a long drive ahead of us’ before he had been whisked out of the office, jacket and briefcase still in hand. He hadn’t even gotten to sit at his new desk before his bum was out the door.

            “New Haven, Connecticut.”

            Tim looked over, appalled. “That’s five hours away.”

            “And?”

            “I’m going to need a bathroom break before we get there.”

            Todd snorted his amusement. The tension lightened a little.

            “What’s in New Haven?” Tim asked, his tone turning more professional.

            Jason reached blindly behind him and into the backseat, not taking his eyes off the road, before straightening and plopping a thick, manila folder onto Tim’s coffee-stained lap. It had a white laminated cover with red caution stripes along the edge, marking it as an X-File. X-Files were old, unsolved cases that had too many questions and no answers. So, the Bureau had designated them status: X or ‘unsolvable’. For some unknown reason, these were the cases that Todd had taken it upon himself to crack.

            As Tim perused the folder’s contents, Todd gave him a run-down of the case.  “Yesterday the New Haven police got a call from Sea View Residences about a woman found gutted inside her apartment. Apparently the neighbors had been complaining about a bad smell and when the manager went to investigate, they found her body. There was no sign of forced entry or that anyone else had been in the apartment at the time of death, _and_ the apartment was completely locked up from the inside. Even the deadbolt was still in place. They had to completely take off the front door to get inside.”

            “Why was this case given to _us_?” _The joke of the force_ left unsaid. “It seems normal enough.”

            “Look at the earlier reports. There have been eight disappearances all at that same address over the past thirty years. Most of them on the same floor as the woman they found yesterday, and all with the same MO. No forced entry, locks all done up on the inside.”

            Tim looked over the file with a skeptical eye. “Says here that the last disappearance at this address was fifteen years ago and the building the disappearances took place in was demolished _five_ years ago after the original owner sold. This is the first incident with the new building and management,” he said, quickly flipping through the stack of reports. “And most of those disappearances took place on the fifth floor, not the fourth.”

            “Right, but when they rebuilt it, they made all of the ceilings higher. The fourth floor is now at the same height as the old fifth floor. I think I put an overlay of the building plans in there somewhere.”

            Tim found the large slip of folded vellum and unfurled it, looking over the plans. With the two diagrams superimposed onto one another it was hard to make out exactly, but he could see that the new building’s floor plan was much more elongated than the previous one, putting the fourth floor in the general vicinity of the old fifth floor. It was hardly conclusive evidence to connect the two cases, however.

            “But this is all speculative conjecture… It can't be a real case,” he said, a mixture of confusion, resignation, and (strangely) disappointment whirling around inside him.

            Todd smiled ruefully. “Welcome to the X-Files, kid.”

 


End file.
